


hot dog vendor

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, First Meetings, Hot Dog Vendor!Clarke, clarke tells hot dog puns, silly fun mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, it’s waffle girl,” Clarke greets, with too much familiarity for someone that Lexa’s only talked to once. Lexa wonders why Clarke remembers her. She’s sure many people have ordered the waffle-dogs before. They were great. Lexa munched through them in two minutes flat while Anya laughed her ass off.</p><p>“Hey, it’s…” Lexa tries to come up with a cute nickname. “Clarke.” She fails.</p><p>(or: the hot dog au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	hot dog vendor

**Author's Note:**

> to quote my friend: "so, it's like a coffee shop au....but with hot dogs?"  
> and my reply is: yes. yes it is

“How about this one?” Anya says, and Lexa rolls her eyes. The duo eye a hot dog stand and something in Lexa’s stomach churns.

“No.” Lexa says, dismissive as ever, and begins to move on. Anya, however, holds her back.

“ _Lexa_ ,” Anya scolds, tugging Lexa in the direction of the stand. “We’ve been looking for a place to eat for half an hour. I’m picking this place.”

Lexa visibly grimaces, scrunching up her nose as she tries to fight back against Anya’s death grip. It’s fruitless, as anticipated. “But it looks so...” Lexa lowers her voice, trying to be subtle like the person handling the food stand can hear her. She really can’t. “ _Unhealthy._ ”

“Whatever. I’m hungry and I couldn’t care less,” Anya releases her hold off Lexa, lightly nudging her away. Lexa quietly growls at the action, smoothing down her shirt. “Either you eat here or you can fuck off.”

“Why are you like this?” says Lexa, and then she’s following Anya into the line. Why does a stand like this have a line, anyway? There’s a vendor every time you turn a corner in this damn city.

“Hey, I’m just pissy because you’ve been denying my food requests for the past half hour. What’s your excuse?”

Lexa’s jaw tightens but she doesn’t complain. There’s a part of Lexa that doesn’t really feel like eating _anything_ today, which probably why she denied all those previous requests, but she’s missed food day with Anya for weeks on end now and she guilt weighs heavy on her heart.

Lexa, like the petty person she is, stares daggers into the back of Anya’s head as she makes her order. Anya says something to the vendor and it’s clearly funny because the vendor barks out a hearty laugh, and oh – it’s a _female_ laugh. Or, at least, a female-sounding laugh.

Lexa only thought greasy, pot-bellied men worked hot dog stands on the side of streets. Then again, this doesn’t look like your everyday homemade street dog. Nah, it’s a lot more commercial. Lexa glances upwards to the big sign over the stand, which reads ‘ _Sizzled Goods_ ’ and features a drawing of what is probably its mascot, a large hot dog with an overly enthusiastic smile. Yeah, commercial.

“Hey,” the vendor calls out to Lexa, which effectively snaps her out of her thoughts. She catches Anya snickering in her periphery and casts a subtle glare her way. Anya only laughs harder. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Lexa breathes, and there’s something deathly wrong with this situation. Deathly, deathly wrong. The vendor casts her a small smile and Lexa’s heart stutters a little. God, the vendor, she’s so– so _pretty_ , it’s almost criminal. Lexa feels her palms begin to sweat. She wipes them onto her jeans.

Then, she stares, as any regular person in a regular situation would do. Lexa stares at the girl and tries to her best to figure out how someone can be so damn _pretty_ – while the vendor begins to buckle under the scrutiny of Lexa’s stare. It’s not a mean or patronising stare or anything like that, it’s just that Lexa looks at her with such childlike _curiosity_ that the vendor, too, begins to sweat.

The staring match ends when the vendor licks her lips and ducks her head down, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Lexa stops psychoanalysing the girl and sheepishly scratches the back of her neck.

“Sorry–“

“Do–“

They both laugh, with just the right amount of awkward to send Anya into hysterics.

“I’m–“

“Are–“

They begin again, and Anya’s having a fucking field day.

Lexa smiles, tight and sheepish because _god_ this entire situation is so awkward, and nods for the girl to talk first. The vendor smiles gratefully.

“Hello, welcome to Sizzled Goods. What would you like?” The girl – no, _Clarke_ , Lexa figures out as she zeroes in on the blonde’s nametag – recites the sentence with the weird contradiction of bored and enthusiastic that Lexa knows she’s said it a million times.

“I’d like… the… uh,” Lexa stutters, because there it is, that tiny smile, it looks so soft and gentle and wait, are those– “are those _waffles_?”

The vendor – _Clarke_ – stutters out a surprised laugh and Lexa internally kicks herself, again and again and again. “Yeah, those are waffles,” pretty blonde hot dog vendor – _Clarke_ – says, reaching out to the glass case which the waffle-dogs reside in. “There’s a hot dog _inside_ the waffles. It’s pretty good. You want to try it?”

Heck yeah Lexa does. “Yeah, thank you. Two of that.”

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Lexa gives Clarke four dollars and sixty cents and Clarke gives Lexa a brown paper bag with two waffle-dogs, they say good bye and Lexa vows to never go to that food stand again.

“No, no! You should definitely go over there again. Woo her with your staring skills, Casanova.”

“Shove the hotdog up your ass, Anya.”

 

…

 

Lexa returns to the hot dog stand again. Lexa isn’t really presented with an ultimatum this time – she goes there out of her own, free will, and maybe that’s what surprises her the most.

She passes it on her morning jog, the same route she’s gone on for months now, and it strikes her weird that she’s never noticed the stand until now. It’s not a passing thing anymore, Lexa guesses. She wonders if it’s always going to be like this – that damn stand, locked into centre stage.

There’s adrenaline pumping through her veins from the freedom she feels while jogging – so that makes her kind of reckless, which in addition makes her kind of fearless, so she walks over to the stand. Clarke’s there. Of course she is.

It’s not asscrack in the morning, like it usually is when Lexa’s jogging, but it’s still quite early, so she’s surprised to see the stand even _open_.

But whatever. Maybe Lexa and this stand with a terrifying, overly enthusiastic mascot and a cute blonde vendor were made to be.

Lexa jogs over to her, ripping her earbuds out of her ears, slinging them over her neck. She then slows her jog into a walk, because she doesn’t want to seem too eager.

“Hey, it’s waffle girl,” Clarke greets, with too much familiarity for someone that Lexa’s only talked to once. Lexa wonders why Clarke remembers her. She’s sure many people have ordered the waffle-dogs before. They were great. Lexa munched through them in two minutes flat while Anya laughed her ass off.

“Hey, it’s…” Lexa tries to come up with a cute nickname. “Clarke.” She fails.

It was probably the right thing to say, Lexa thinks, because Clarke stutters out that quiet laugh again and Lexa can’t hold down the grin that pulls at her lips.

“What are you doing open this early?” Lexa asks, because she’s not going to be a weirdo this time.

“Actually, I’m just closing up. I’ve been here all night.” Clarke quips, but in the driest tone possible.

A beat passes. Lexa’s eye crinkle at their sides as she doubles over and lets out a bark of a laugh. “That was _awful_ ,” Lexa comments, after a few seconds of laughing. She doesn’t even know why she’s so amused. Maybe it was the delivery. Maybe Clarke just has this general effect on her.

Hey, if Clarke can throw Lexa into her quietest, most thoughtful mode without so much as batting an eye, what’s to say she can’t do the opposite?

“Yeah, I’m so sorry,” Clarke says, and she looks vaguely bewildered. “That was really unprofessional.”

“It’s fine,” Lexa says, and Clarke stares at her with a look that says she wants Lexa to go on. “It was funny?”

Clarke shakes her head, laughing lightly, leaning down to rest her elbows on the cluttered surface of the stand. “What about you?”

Lexa looks at her questioningly.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Oh. “Jogging,” Lexa says, gesturing to her fitness attire. Clarke’s jaw drops a fraction and she stares at Lexa’s tight fitting clothes like it’s the first time she’s ever seen something like it, and Lexa barely manages to snuff the excitement that sparks in her belly.

Lexa vaguely fiddles with her earbuds dangling around her neck, looking amusedly at Clarke who clears her throat and composes herself. “Cool, cool,” Clarke says, and stands up, and gestures to the food stand. “So, you want anything?”

 _You_ , Lexa almost says, because the ogling from Clarke has given her way too much confidence for her own good. Instead, she says, “the waffle-dogs, if you don’t mind. Those were so good.”

Clarke grins, reaching over to the glass case which holds the waffle-dogs. “I actually don’t know your name,” Clarke says, as she reaches out and picks up two waffle-dogs with a pair of tongs, dropping them into a brown paper bag.

Lexa inwardly cringes. “Lexa Woods,” she says, and holds out her hand.

Clarke’s eyes dance as she reaches out to Lexa’s hand like she’s about to take it, but instead drops the paper bag into it. She laughs as Lexa’s cheeks flush red. “Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa hears someone clear their throat behind her and Lexa turns around. A soft frown tugs at her lips as she realises there’s someone waiting behind her.

Lexa turns back to face Clarke and Clarke smiles at her apologetically. “Work calls,” Clarke shrugs, and there’s something like a promise in Clarke’s words as she says, “See you around, waffle girl.”

 

…

 

The next time Lexa sees Clarke isn’t until a few weeks after their second encounter. She thinks about Clarke more than she cares to admit – there’s something about Clarke that makes Lexa feel hesitant, like if she jumps into she’ll continue to fall forever.

The third encounter is almost surreal. Lexa just passed an important test and she thinks it’s important to reward herself.

Also, Clarke’s wearing this hat that emblemizes the overly enthusiastic hotdog mascot (assumedly a new part of the uniform) and it’s the _stupidest_ thing Lexa’s ever seen. It might just be the best part of her day.

“Nice hat,” is what Lexa greets her with, because she’s the fucking epitome of the smooth talker personality.

Clarke rolls her eyes and reaches out to the glass case to grab two waffle-dogs. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me on this job,” she says, sarcastic as always, and Lexa snorts.

Lexa immediately regrets snorting, of course, and throws her hand over her mouth in horror. Clarke hunches over and throws out a loud laugh until it dissolves into silent laughter, her shoulders shaking as she tries to steady herself by placing her palms on the counter of the hot dog stand.

Lexa tries to regain what’s left of her dignity. “So, _that’s_ the best thing that’s happened to you on your job?” She flirts, but Clarke only laughs harder. Lexa bites her tongue. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the _best_ time to flirt.

Lexa sighs. She can see her dignity in scraps on the ground in front of her. She kicks it hopelessly with her right foot. It flutters but doesn’t move to piece itself back together. Rest in pieces, Lexa’s dignity.

It takes a few more seconds but Clarke manages to compose herself, shakily putting two waffle-dogs in a brown bag as her shoulders shake with the aftershocks of laughter. Lexa takes the bag out of Clarke’s hands, but she doesn’t really want to leave. She’s been embarrassed into oblivion, but she really doesn’t want to leave.

Lexa looks behind her. It’s getting pretty late into the afternoon, and no one else is lining up, so maybe she has a chance to do some damage control.

There’s a brief moment of awkward silence as Clarke watches Lexa take out one of the waffle-dogs, thrusting it towards Clarke.

Lexa’s sure there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.

“You want one?” Lexa says, holding out the hot dog tentatively, like a kindergartner offering their crush a candy bar. Lexa blinks. Not the best comparison.

Clarke almost seems startled, but her face splits into a grin and she happily takes the dog out of Lexa’s hands. “Thanks, Lex! God, I’m starving. You know how difficult it is to sit around and watch all this food and, like, _not_ eat it?” Clarke mumbles, through bitten pieces of waffle-dog.

 “Mm? Yeah,” Lexa breathes, and watching Clarke messily munch through the waffle-dog isn’t – admittedly – the most attractive thing ever, but there’s just something about Clarke that makes _everything_ she does seem attractive. How the fuck does she do it? A mystery, Lexa supposes.

Lexa fidgets nervously in her spot, and takes a tiny bite out of her own waffle-dog. Clarke finishes hers in a record time of thirty seconds, and Lexa isn’t sure whether or not to be impressed or worried. Clarke gives her a proud grin as she wipes her hands down on her apron, looking at Lexa’s barely eaten waffle-dog.

“You want this too?” Lexa asks, holding out the brown bag.

Clarke bites her bottom lip and leans forward a little, as if to take it, but her eyebrows furrow together and she shakes her head. “No, I can’t, you paid for it and I feel bad.” Clarke says, obviously disappointed, but she gives Lexa a reassuring smile anyway.

Lexa raises her eyebrows but she nods, bringing the waffle-dog closer to her chest. “Perhaps… we could go out for something to eat? You’re hungry and, uh,” Lexa asks, nervously scuffing the toe of her sneakers on the pavement.

Clarke leans forward on the counter, resting her elbows on the cool metal. “Are you asking me out?”

Lexa swallows a little, her Adam’s apple bobbing in her throat. She nods.

Clarke’s grin blows wider, and she stands up straighter, rubbing her hands together. “ _Fuck yes_ , Lexa!” Clarke exclaims, raising her wrist to her face to check the time on her wristwatch. “It’s 6:43. I was meant to let up a few minutes ago. This is good.”

Lexa nods, clutching the brown paper bag in her hands tighter as she tries to suppress the childish excitement overcoming her senses. “A _date_ ,” Lexa breathes, mostly to herself. “With _Clarke_.”

“Lex? Did you say something?” Clarke looks up at Lexa from her bent over position, packing all the things from the stand away and picking her jacket up off from a hook off from the inside of the stand.

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing.” Lexa clarifies, smiling back at Clarke as the blonde flashes her a quick smile.

“I just gotta… pack up, give me a quick sec.”

Lexa takes a step back and calmly watches Clarke as she throws a tarp over the stand, switching off a nearby power point and putting all the leftover food into a large, plastic take-out box.

Lexa takes a step forward and watches Clarke as her phone buzzes in her pocket. Lexa watches as Clarke switches it on, checks whoever texted her. Lexa’s facial features turn from pleasantly content to worry as Clarke glances at her with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry, Lex, I can’t do it tonight,” Clarke frowns, placing her takeout box on the ground and stepping towards Lexa. “Octavia – my friend – reminded me that it’s Bellamy’s – my other friend – birthday today and we’re all going out for drinks.”

Something inside Lexa shatters as she, as always, tries to push her emotions down. She gives Clarke a smile because she totally understands (she does) (and while there feels like there’s a ‘but’ to the end of the sentence, Lexa doesn’t explore it any further). “It’s fine, Clarke,” Lexa says, keeping her voice steady. “There’s always a next time.”

Clarke frowns, like what Lexa said wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she shrugs it off. “Yeah, a next time,” she says, scratching the inside of her arm. An idea lights up in Clarke’s brain and Lexa can almost see the lightbulb above it – and she almost laughs, when Clarke comes scrambling closer to Lexa, reaching out for her arm. “I’ve got an _idea_.”

Lexa nervously licks her lips, nodding. “Yeah?”

“How about you give me your phone number?”

Oh. How obvious. “Good idea,” Lexa says, and then they’re both reaching into their back packets to take out their phones.

“Number?”

“Here.” Clarke holds out her contact details, waiting for Lexa to finish typing in her number. They swap, with Lexa holding out her contact details, and Clarke typing out _her_ number.

“Contact pictures?”

“Don’t want to forget my pretty face, I see,” Clarke jokes, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Lexa breathes in through her nose. Fuck.

“No, I just want to,” Lexa opens up her camera, snapping a quick picture of a bewildered Clarke, “immortalise you forever in this hat.”

Clarke sticks her tongue out further, scrunching her nose in the process. She leans over and snatches Lexa’s phone out of her hands, looking at the picture. “Jokes on you, I look good.”

“Yeah, well,” Lexa drawls. She not so much snatches but _gently_ lifts her phone out of Clarke’s grip. “The hat? Not so much.”

“Boo,” Clarke says, ripping that _stupid_ mascot hat off her head. “I wouldn’t be wearing this if I didn’t _have_ to.”

Lexa gently takes the hat out of Clarke’s hands, turning it around in her grip as if to survey it. Her eyebrows furrow in thoughtfulness as Clarke stifles a laugh beside her. “It just adds to your appeal, I think.”

“What, now it looks _good_ on me? Make up your mind, Lex,” Clarke replies, exasperated, but Lexa doesn’t miss the amused twinkle in her eye.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going for the street hot dog vendor aesthetic,” Lexa straightens the slightly crumped hat in her hands, smoothing it out and putting it back on Clarke’s head. “You’ve got it handled.”

“I’m going for the _cute_ street hot dog vendor aesthetic.”

“In that case,” Lexa says, giving Clarke a thumbs down. “Game over.”

Clarke laughs, shoving Lexa lightly. “Take that back, you _ass_!”

“You’re asking me to lie, Clarke?” Lexa replies, faux-affronted. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you.”

Clarke tries to respond, but she seems to have been reduced to a giggling mess. Lexa bites her bottom lip, in the hopes that her grin doesn’t stretch too wide, but it doesn’t work.

“Listen, I’ll lie, but if you wa–“ Lexa begins, but it’s swiftly cut off by the shrill sound of Clarke’s phone ringing.

They fall silent as Clarke hastily unlocks her phone and answers the call. She smiles apologetically at Lexa and walks away, presumably to have her phone call in peace.

Lexa unlocks her own phone and distracts herself by scrolling through social media, where Anya seems to have livetweeted her entire afternoon. Typical.

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke calls out to her, after she’s finished her phone call. “I really have to pack and go so Octavia doesn’t hunt me down and rip my head off.”

“Okay. I’ll text you?” Lexa says, and cringes when she realises how eager she sounds.

Clarke, however, just laughs. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

 

…

 

“Who’s Clarke Griffin?” Anya inquires, peering over Lexa’s shoulder.

Lincoln’s laugh booms from his place at the kitchen island as Lexa yelps and rolls away from Anya’s curious stare.

“No one you care about,” Lexa says, hugging her phone closer to her chest as Anya flops down on the other side of the couch.

“O- _kay_ ,” Anya drawls, throwing her legs over Lexa’s lap, leaning backwards on the chair’s arm. “No need to get so defensive.”

Lexa only manages a small shrug as Anya scoffs and turns her attention back to the television, where some insanely bullshit horror movie plays. Anya lets the silence linger before she sneaks another glance at Lexa, who is _definitely_ not acting like herself. Anya glances at the TV, then back at Lexa, then the TV again, like she’s trying to figure out some mystical puzzle. Safe to say, Anya’s confused. Lexa usually drinks up these shitty b-list movies like water after being stranded in the desert.

Anya’s confusion only deepens as she watches Lexa’s lips upturn into an amused smirk, tapping out a hasty response.

 “Hey, Linc, do _you_ know who Clarke Griffin is?” Anya calls, but Lincoln only shrugs. Soap bubbles overflow the kitchen sink, but Lincoln seems to find nothing wrong with it. He continues scrubbing the dishes. Anya resists the urge to groan.

Lexa seems to snap back into reality at the mention of Clarke Griffin, darting her eyes around in childlike confusion before she registers it was Anya. She shuffles a little and throws one of the couch pillows at Anya, whom Anya catches with ease. “Lay off, Anya. None of your business.”

“Wrong, it’s definitely my business when my little sister won’t look at the freaking movie. You can’t hide behind finals week and the stresses of college anymore, Lex.”

Lexa crinkles her nose, but she turns her attention back to her phone screen anyway. “The movie is awful.”

Anya nudges Lexa’s ribs with her foot, making Lexa scowl and shove off her feet in response. Anya doesn’t let up, throwing her legs back onto Lexa’s lap. Lexa seems to admit defeat at that point, knowing that shit like this could go on forever. “That’s the thing though,” Anya says, nudging Lexa’s ribs with her foot again, making Lexa squirm. “You love these shitty movies.”

“I don’t _love_ –“

“Incorrect. You love these movies.” Anya says, and Lincoln chimes in, “Yeah, she’s right, you love these kind of movies.”

“You both suck. Lincoln, you’re meant to be on my side.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“I see no love here,” Lexa spits, rolling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom. “I’m going to lock myself in the bathroom for two hours.”

“Wow,” Anya says, after Lexa slams the door shut. “She really got defensive on that one, didn’t she?”

“Mm,” Lincoln hums, draining the sink and possibly finally realising that his overuse of the dish soap was a bit… _much_. “She must really like this Clarke Griffin girl.”

“I guess. Either that or Clarke Griffin is a drug dealer and she’s happy she’s finally got some of the maryjane.”

“Our Lex? A drug user? Nah, can’t be.” Lincoln replies, shucking off his gloves and tossing them in the trash, heading over to the couch, his big body barely avoiding crushing Anya’s sprawled out legs.

“I CAN HEAR YOU FROM THE BATHROOM, YOU KNOW,” Lexa shouts, vaguely muffled, from the bathroom, making Anya and Lincoln laugh.

The bathroom door slams open and Anya stares smugly at her sister, laughing at Lexa’s vague scowl. “Why are you here so soon? You barely lasted two minutes.”

“It’s cold in there,” Lexa simply replies, tossing her phone onto the kitchen table in front of her. “If I stop talking to Clarke Griffin, will you leave me alone?”

“Sure,” Anya says, tucking her legs closer to her chest as Lexa shoos them away in order to make space on the couch.

The agreement is good. For a few seconds.

Lexa’s phone continues to buzz over the movie and Lexa looks at it like it’s offended her, or at least done something wrong, because she won’t stop staring at it.

“Maybe you should, uh, answer it, Lex,” Lincoln says, glancing uncomfortably at Lexa’s phone.

“No, I need to ignore it,” Lexa replies, firmly, but she’s still staring at it.

“Yeah, Lex, Lincoln’s right. Answer it,” Anya says, but her tone is mocking and Lexa scowls at her.

“If I answer it will you still mock me?”

“Correct. I will mock you until I find out who Clarke Griffin is.” Lexa drags her hands down her face, letting out a long sustained groan. Lincoln looks at her worriedly but Anya only laughs, kicking Lexa with her foot. “Go, answer it.”

Lexa sighs and leans forward, picking the phone up from the table and hastily making a beeline ( _again_ ) for the bathroom.

“Linc,” Anya says, drawing Lincoln’s attention away the bathroom door. “Can I borrow your laptop?”

“Sure,” Lincoln replies, albeit a bit hesitantly. He hops up and begins to walk over to his bedroom. “What for?”

“Shh,” Anya hisses, drawing an even more confused look from Lincoln. “She can hear us from the bathroom, remember?”

Lincoln shrugs and grabs the TV remote off the coffee table, turning up the volume. “Problem solved.”

“Smartass. Go get your damn laptop.”

 

…

 

It’s a good day. At least, Lexa thinks so. She’s been talking to Clarke for around two weeks and it’s been good – _really_ good, actually. They talk about random shit all the time and Lexa thinks that waking up to Clarke’s “good morning, sleepyhead” is the best part about her day.

Though, she does worry for her own health. Will Lexa die from the overconsumption of hotdogs? Perhaps. Only time will tell, Lexa supposes.

So, yeah. It’s a good day. Lexa might even go as far to say that it’s been a good week (although the memory of Anya’s incessant teasing after Lexa left the bathroom does sour Lexa’s mood a little).

Lexa digs her hands into her pockets and fishes out her phone, clicking it on to check for new messages. Nothing. She hums in thought. No issue. Clarke’s break is probably already finished, anyway.

She stops in front of a flower store and considers her options. She _could_ be the sappy romantic and buy Clarke a bundle of different flowers – she could be simplistic and just get a singular rose, or she could just not get any.

Lexa scoffs at herself; who the hell is she _not_ to be the sappy romantic? She’s nothing if not lovestruck. Not that she would tell anybody that, of course.

She pushes the door open and it greets her with a chime. The person at the counter waves at her and she smiles back, just a little.

“Going on a date?” The person at the counter asks, and Lexa shrugs.

“Something like that.”

She drifts over to the tulips, and Lexa might not know all that much about flowers and their meanings, but she thinks that this might do the trick.

“The tulips symbolize perfect love, if you wanted to know.”

“Thanks.”

Lexa gathers around five and takes them over to the counter, where the person at the counter rings them up and announces the price.

“Tulips are always a declaration.”

“That’s what I’m aiming for.”

Lexa’s in and out of the shop in record time, because she really, really wants to get to Clarke already. She fishes out her phone again: no new messages.

Again, Lexa shrugs it off and makes her way towards the hot dog stand. It’s a little weird, because Clarke seems to make it her mission to keep Lexa updated on her, quote, “boring-ass job”, whether it be a picture of a stray pigeon or a questionable selfie with Clarke kissing a waffle-dog.

Lexa wonders why the hell Clarke works in a commercial hot dog stand, anyway. She mentally notes to ask her later.

A few blocks of walking and Lexa makes it to the stand. The path is almost muscle memory, Lexa walks it way often than naught. Way more than she would ever admit to anyone else.

Lexa turns the corner and ah, there it is. The lovely hot dog stand. The stand isn’t really a romantic setting, not in the slightest, actually, but Lexa really appreciates the way it brought her to Clarke, so she can’t find it in herself to judge the thing.

She steps forward, but Clarke’s talking to someone, so she waits. The person looks kind of familiar, now that Lexa thinks about it. There’s those brown roots that fade into blonde hair that reminds Lexa of– oh. Oh shit.

“Shit,” Lexa hisses under her breath, but apparently it’s not quiet enough, because Anya turns around the same time Clarke flickers her gaze towards her.

“Lexa! Just who I was looking for.” Anya strides towards her – and she looks smug as hell, of course she does – grabbing Lexa’s arm which holds up the yellow tulips in her hand, and pulls her over towards Clarke, who kind of just looks confused. “Guess who I found!” Anya leans over the stand counter, poking Clarke’s cheek. “Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa doesn’t miss Anya’s feral grin or Clarke’s worried glance, so she simply buries her face into her free hand, letting out a grumble.

It’s around that time does Anya spot the tulips in Lexa’s white-knuckled grip, eliciting an even more dangerous grin. Anya tugs them out of Lexa’s hands (which is a real feat in itself, Lexa was holding a death grip on those things), and passes them to Clarke, who still hasn’t said anything yet.

“Are these for _Clarke_ , Lex? How adorable.”

It’s really uncharacteristic for Anya to be so shitfaced around Lexa’s romantic endeavours, but the sibling _really_ seems proud of herself for managing to find out who Clarke Griffin is, and Lexa is just. Tired.

“Anya, please…” Lexa pleads, still hiding her face in the palm of her hand.

Anya only seems to give in after looking back and forth between Clarke and Lexa, deciding something in that undecipherable brain of hers. Probably decided she did enough damage and is finally being human. “Spend some quality time with your girl. Nice talking to you, Clarke,” she says, giving Clarke an appreciative nod before walking off to wherever traitors go when they’re done being traitors.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry,” Lexa says, and Clarke looks less worried now, more amused. She seems to have gotten the picture.

“It’s fine, and,” she brings the tulips up to her nose, taking in the aroma, “these were a good sentiment.”

“She usually isn’t like this. She usually doesn’t care about who I date.”

“So we’re _dating_ now?”

“Um,” Lexa fumbles, because she didn’t really mean to imply that. She bites her tongue and swallows, trying to gather her thoughts. “I mean, going to date– because I’m going to take you out. Later.”

Clarke muffles a laugh behind her hand and smells the flowers again, because they really do smell nice. “I get what you were trying to say,” she mumbles into the tulips, her nose still pressed up to the petals. “And, if you play your cards right, we might actually end up dating.”

Lexa grins and her heart feels lighter because Clarke really does say the best things and Lexa, well, doesn’t. She feels like an unravelling thread and maybe she needs to compose herself a little better around Clarke. “That’s a declaration.”

“So were these flowers. Tulips mean perfect love, don’t they?”

Lexa splutters and Clarke laughs. Maybe she’ll try to compose herself better around Clarke tomorrow.

“I’m flattered above everything else, Lexa,” the blonde begins, “but I do know my flowers.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t know the meaning, but…”

“But?”

Lexa smiles. Just a little. “I was kind of hoping you did, too.”

“Lexa, you sap.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, but makes no effort to deny it.

Clarke glances at the watch on her wrist (Lexa notices it’s old and battered. She wonders about the significance behind it) and frowns at the time, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m still on duty for a while.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just... sit around.”

“Are you sure?”

“Most certainly. Shame it’s not a coffee shop or anything cosy.”

Clarke casts her a wicked grin, taking her half-full plastic water bottle, twisting it open, before fitting two tulips inside. She casts the rest into her bag. “Falling in love with a barista is too cliché.”

“True,” says Lexa, and she ignores the falling in love part, because it shouldn’t be that easy (but it is, it really is, because Clarke Griffin does wonders). “Think about how much story you could get out of falling in love with a hot dog vendor.”

 

…

 

It’s not until two days after what Anya describes as the Solved Mystery of Clarke Griffin does Lexa ask how Anya actually managed to discover her not-so-well-hidden secret. Lexa never really meant for Clarke to be a secret, anyway. She just figures that Anya was nosy and Nosy Anya always meets Defensive Lexa.

Anya shrugs and continues tapping away at her laptop, in complete disregard with Lexa’s affronted expression.

“ _Anya_ ,” Lexa repeats, and she can’t believe Anya’s the oldest sibling. The supposed _mature_ one (though everyone in the family knows that Lexa is the real leader).

“It’s not obvious?” Anya says, stopping her ceaseless typing just to give Lexa the driest look possible.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was.”

Anya rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to her work. “I googled her, dumbass.”

 

…

 

 **Today** 11:18 PM

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:18] _where does a hot dog get its haircut?_

**To: Clarke :)**

_Where?_ [11:18]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:18] _at the barber-cue!_

**To: Clarke :)**

_Awful_ [11:19]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:19] _hurtful, but i will continue on_

**To: Clarke :)**

_Please, no more_ [11:19]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:19] _TOO LATE_

[11:20] _why did a hot dog wake up screaming?_

**To: Clarke :)**

_…why_ [11:20]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:20] _it had a ‘bite-mare’!_

**To: Clarke :)**

_I’ve had enough_ [11:21]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:21] _fine, but i really do tell these jokes with_

**To: Clarke :)**

_Please don’t say whatever you’re about to say_ [11:21]

**From: Clarke :)**

[11:21] _relish_

**To: Clarke :)**

_I take back our date on Saturday_ [11:22]

 

…

 

Lexa waits outside of Clarke’s apartment complex, tulips in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. She questions if the amount of _work_ Lexa put into this date was a bit much, then she figures that Clarke deserves a lot more than a _bit much_ , so her fears quickly subside.

She doesn’t walk up the stairs into Clarke’s apartment only because Clarke insisted that she would be there very soon – which Lexa doesn’t doubt – so it’s only just the waiting game, for Lexa.

The outside of the apartment complex is good, it’s clean, not too grimy, which is good for this part of the city, and Lexa wonders what Clarke does besides her part time job in the hot dog industry.

_Hot dog industry. Hah._

Lexa doesn’t have to do much more waiting as Clarke appears at the entrance to the complex a few moments after, tugging her shirt down. She looks good – great, really – tights, a skirt, a simple shirt and a bomber jacket, nothing too fancy, Lexa insisted, mostly because she didn’t want anything to be ruined.

They exchange hellos and soft smiles and Clarke takes the flowers while Lexa takes Clarke’s arm, leading her down the street.

“So, where are you taking me, Lex? You’ve been super secretive.”

Lexa simply grins and holds up the picnic basket, smiling wider as Clarke lets out a low whistle and nods her head appreciatively.

“Going all out, are you, Woods?”

“Only the best for you,” jokes Lexa, except she’s not really joking, but Clarke doesn’t need to know that.

Clarke laughs quietly and leans her body closer to Lexa, almost shoving her weight into Lexa’s side. They walk in a comfortable silence, just taking in the presence of each other and the underlying excitement-slash-nervousness that always comes with _first dates_.

“You know what I just realised,” Clarke says, after a while.

“What did you realise?” Lexa asks, with a surprisingly steady voice, because her mind is running a million miles per hour trying to figure out what it could be.

Clarke sharply tugs on Lexa’s arm, as an indication to stop walking, and Lexa feels her palms sweat.

“I don’t have a contact picture of you. On my phone.”

Lexa’s eyebrows furrow because that really wasn’t what she was expecting and – _oh._ She remembers. Clarke left prematurely and didn’t manage to get a picture of her.

“Oh,” breathes Lexa, because she had braced for much, much worse. “Why don’t we take one, then?”

“Okay, both of us. Together. Just let me get my phone.” Clarke pulls their faces side by side and reaches out her purse to get her phone out. You can imagine the surprise on Lexa’s face when she suddenly pulls away. “I almost forgot!”

Clarke reaches into her purse again and takes out that _stupid_ mascot hat from before, and Lexa’s kind of surprised. _Kind of_ being a massive understatement.

“You _planned_ this!” Lexa exclaims, and it’s only confirmed by Clarke cackling and placing the hat onto Lexa’s head.

“Now our contact photos match. I just wanted to see what you looked like in this hat, anyway.”

Clarke pulls their faces together again and snaps the picture. Clarke’s smile splits her face and Lexa betrays no emotion except for the amused twinkle in her eye.

Lexa pulls away, rolling her eyes at Clarke’s relentless laughter regarding the picture. She rips the hat off her head and hands it to the offending blonde. “You’re really milking the hot dog aesthetic, aren’t you?”

Clarke laughs, shaking her phone in the air. “You know how that sounds, right?”

It takes a second for Lexa to get it, but it clicks. She wrinkles her nose but she thinks it’s kind of endearing. “That doesn’t even make any sense,” says Lexa, but she’s grinning because Clarke’s grinning and it really just loses its bite.

 

…

 

Lexa introduces the grapes and Clarke prepares for war.

“BE PREPARED, WOODS,” Clarke pops a grape into her mouth and rolls another between her forefinger and thumb, raising her hand in preparation. “I’m going to throw another.”

“Mm,” Lexa hums, adjusting her spot on the blanket, leaning back a little. Judging from the previous tosses, this one might be a difficult one to catch.

The toss is sloppy and falls onto Lexa’s nose, rolling down her cheek and onto the picnic blanket. Clarke breaks out into a fit of giggles as Lexa grumbles and picks up the stray grape, hesitating for a beat before tossing the entire thing into her mouth.

“Ew, gross,” says Clarke, sticking out her tongue, wiping her hands on her skirt. She picks another hot dog out of the picnic basket and offers it to Lexa, who vehemently shakes her head.

“No more hot dogs,” Lexa almost whispers, ducking her head.

“You’re the one that brought them.”

“You’re the one that wanted a hot dog eating contest.”

Clarke scoffs, “but you _won_ that hot dog eating contest.”

“I don’t like losing,” is what Lexa replies with, and Clarke laughs, because it just fits.

Clarke turns around and leans her head onto Lexa lap, somehow not noticing the way Lexa tenses for a second before she ducks down. There’s a silence as Lexa struggles to figure out what to do with her hands. Does she run them through Clarke’s hair? It’s not that Lexa doesn’t want to – god, does she want to – she just might be overstepping some boundaries, and that’s never good.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Clarke mumbles, tugging at Lexa’s wrists before leading them down into her hair, coaxing her to start kneading her head. “That wasn’t so difficult.”

Lexa smiles a half grin, kind of stunned with how utterly _soft_ Clarke’s hair is. “I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

It’s then does Clarke open her eyes, looking up at Lexa with a twinkle in her eye. “How chivalrous. Thank you.”

Lexa shrugs, a light blush staining her cheeks, looking up at the sky as she runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair, and it feels good, it feels normal, like this is something that Lexa should get used to. Not that she would mind.

“Have I mentioned how picnics are the gayest thing conceivable?”

“Not that I recall, no. I must have missed the first billion times.”

“Well, picnics are–“

“I was being sarcastic.”

Lexa looks down at Clarke who still has her eyes closed. She wears a wicked grin and Lexa should be annoyed but she really can’t, she can’t. “I know.”

“Then why did you– oh.”

“Yeah, you get it now, Lex?”

“Hush.”

Clarke sits up a little, only to tug Lexa down to lay on the blanket next to her. “Cloud gaze with me.”

“We still have food to eat,” Lexa protests, but it’s half-hearted and she’s already laying down on the blanket.

“After this,” Clarke almost coos, letting Lexa intertwine their hands and pull them onto her stomach. Then, she adds, more seriously, because it’s obviously a concerning matter: “what do you think that one looks like?”

“A duck, kind of,” says Lexa, with the same amount of seriousness, pointing with her free hand at the accused cloud. She traces the thing that’s probably meant to be the beak – but it’s wonky and leaves a lot to the imagination.

“A duck? It looks more like a rooster. You see the little bumps on the top? That’s that weird, fleshy thingy on roosters heads.”

“You mean… the comb?”

Clarke laughs, leaning her head onto Lexa’s shoulder. “Yeah, that.”

Lexa pauses, to think about Clarke’s words as if they needed any deliberation in the first place. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess. What about that one?”

“Unidentified blob of mass, definitely.”

They erupt into a fit of childish giggles, Clarke leaning her head deeper into the crook of Lexa’s neck and Lexa leaning her head on top of Clarkes. “Now that’s just unfair.”

“I suppose,” she says, but it has no shame to it. Clarke brings her head back so she can turn to face Lexa, who does the same.

Their faces are _this close_ and Lexa can feel Clarke’s hot breath on her lips and it’s good – this is good, and she thinks if she just leans in a little bit closer their noses will be touching and if she leans in _this much_ more their lips will be touching and fuck it, Lexa decides to test her hypothesis. She bumps their noses together and– yep, Lexa was correct about the amount of distance to be covered, now if she just tilts her head to the side a little–

Lips connect and for first kisses it’s a little bit perfect, it’s soft and sweet but it ends a little too quickly, so not everything in this life was made to be perfect, Lexa supposes.

Lexa pulls back just a fraction and Clarke smiles against her lips, like this is what she wanted all along, and Lexa finds herself agreeing because she leans back in and kisses Clarke again.

This time it lasts longer and yeah, not everything in this life was made to be perfect, but if one thing were to be, this would be it.

Lexa slides her free hand underneath Clarke’s jaw, pressing her palm onto the back of her neck, turning onto her side to press into Clarke’s face more incessantly, because– well, because she _wants to_. Clarke seems to get the picture as she does the same, slinging _her_ free hand across Lexa’s waist and pulling their hips together.

Their intertwined hands remain crushed between their two bodies.

Lexa doesn’t remember how long they kiss for, but when she pulls away, sucking in the breaths of air she was denied while losing herself with Clarke’s lips, Clarke leans their foreheads together and whispers:

“You taste like hot dogs.”

Lexa stares at her, stunned, before Clarke breaks down into laughter and Lexa swallows it by pressing their lips together again.

**Author's Note:**

> why. why do i. write such. gay. things.  
> thanks for your time  
> be free to yell at me at [nechanic](http://nechanic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
